


Rainfall

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Prospect (2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25990423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: A tumblr request: I think your writing is so special! You understand character so clearly. I wonder if you’d indulge an idea that won’t leave me alone? Ezra or Javi (or Zach?!) finding out a seedy bar has a nudie pic of his girl up on the wall and in a protective move he rips it down because hey that’s not cool.
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader, Ezra (Prospect 2018)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Rainfall

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

gif credit: @ithinkwehitametaphor

“She’s fine, your little bit, ain’t she? Seen her somewhere before - that’s it. Men’s room wall in a bar named  _ Hook, Line & Sinker _ on Aperture-4.”

And with those words from a fellow grifter he’d been drinking with, Ezra had taken off like a rabbit with its tail on fire. 

_ No one _ got to look at you that way, especially while taking a shit.

He stalked through the crowded bar, not caring who he pushed aside, a tall, striking man with a mouth made for sin, soulful, whiskey-brown eyes that could nonetheless communicate your doom, and a natural blond streak on the right side of his head, the lightness commanding attention among his tousled, hazelnut curls. 

A kiss of starlight, you called it.

And your words made him  _ feel _ like he was made of starstuff. Made him feel like more than a one-armed, washed up Prospector, a harvester who couldn’t really harvest anymore, reduced to grifting around the Universe for whatever jobs he could charm his way into.

He’d always been lucky with his charm. Could talk his way into any woman’s smalls; but those days, the days of faceless women to drown his sorrows in, as interchangeable as any liquor bottle, were behind him since he’d met you.

_ Rainfall, _ he called you. Because you were essential to him the way rain was essential to most of the early Terras of the history books you so loved. Because he was sure as shit that he’d die without you. Waste away, become nothing but a footnote in the life you’d continue to shine in without him.

And he  _ wouldn’t  _ let other men look upon the one gem he’d found that was a thousand times more precious than aurelac.

Priceless, in fact.

He stormed into the men’s room, the stained door rickety, swinging in Ezra’s angry wake.

An unfortunate man - a floater too, by the look of him - stood by your picture, leering, his hands under his long jacket. In a second, Ezra could guess what the charlatan was up to.

Fury rose, dark like demon’s wings, in his gut.

He crossed the dirty space in three strides, ripped your picture from the wall, stuffed it in his pocket.

“Hey, fuck you man,” the floater began. “I don’t see your name-”

Ezra’s knife, concealed in a custom-made pocket on his sweater, was at the man’s throbbing pulsepoint in a hot second. He might only have one arm now, but he’d learned to use it with pinpoint accuracy. “Might want to rethink your words there, friend,” he said silkily, his tone soft. Deadly. “Lest they be your last.”

“Whoa, whoa.” The man held his hands up, empty palms out. The front of his coat darkened and Ezra noted with faint disgust that the stranger had pissed himself. “I didn’t see nothing, all right? Please, don’t kill me.”

“Killing you would be a waste of resources,” Ezra sighed, smiling cheerfully at the shuddering man. “I’m thinking it’s kinder all around to let you live out your miserable life. Don’t you?”

He pulled his knife away, leaving a single drop of blood to run down the shivering stranger’s pale, fleshy throat, and left the men’s room, pushing the door open so hard it creaked on its old, rusty hinges.

Once safely outside under a canopy of lab-grown trees - the only way trees existed in the mess they called cities, these days - he took the flyer out, studied it.

There you were.  _ Rainfall.  _ He mouthed the moniker he’d given you. Your breasts spilled out of a corset, half-drawn so your nipples could be seen, tempting, round. Your legs were curled under you but you wore no underwear, so the curls between your legs peeked out.

He knew you were no blushing virgin when you’d met. You had known other men. You had trusted them.

And  _ this _ was how one of those men had thanked you for your trust, your body, your heart.

Ezra recognised the little doodle in the right hand corner of the flyer. He’d seen it before, on counterfeit ales, on counterfeit... Recreational substances.

And thanks to his grubby past, he knew exactly where to find this particular felon.

*****

“Rainfall?”

You looked up from the bread you kneaded - an outdated by enjoyable pastime, sometimes made tricky by the fact you could only get soya flour (crappy rise) - to see Ezra coming in through the door.

“Ez. I was worried! You’re two days overdue.” You left the bread in a sorry heap and crossed the room, throwing your arms around him, burying your nose in the curve where his shoulder met his neck. He’d taken his suit off in your makeshift porch, and wore his undersuit and boots, his hair a little sweaty, curling at his nape and over his forehead. He nuzzled your hair. 

“I’m as sorry as can be, Rainfall. Had a little extra business to take care of.”

It was then that you noted the smear of blood on his forearm. “Ezra.” You snatched his arm, searching for the tear in the suit.

“Oh. Ain’t mine, sweet girl.”

The breath whoosed out of you, and you lifted your face for his kiss, so happy to have him home, this man who made you complete, whose broken parts completed the missing pieces of your own personal jigsaw.

Ezra indulged you, pressing his lips to yours, and you opened greedily for him. He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you close as your tongues danced. You drank him in, the flavour of his habitual chicory coffee, mint chocolate protein bars, and something distinctly  _ Ezra _ that you could never replicate in a thousand cycles.

“Found a flyer of you, Rainfall,” he muttered against your cheek, his facial scruff tickling pleasantly. “Adorning the  _ filthy _ wall of a restroom on Aperture-4. Cheap entertainment for those without morals, men passed over by common decency, with gaping holes where their souls should reside.”

You bit your lip. “What the hell-”

“The culprit must have been a former paramour of yours, sweet girl.” Ezra let you go to pull the flyer from his pocket, showing it to you.

Your face fell as you took it, examining the picture closely, memories churning. “Yes. It was…. Almost ten cycles ago, now. He said that was for his private collection. Then, soon after, I found other girls…. Posing for his  _ private collection _ and I ended it. Oh, I should tell him-” You crumpled it in your palm, angry with yourself.

“A chore you need not trouble yourself with, Rainfall.”

You looked at Ezra askance, and then something dark passed over his face. The way Ezra could switch from charming to sinister in a heartbeat was one of the things that had most intrigued you about him, when you’d met two cycles ago.

And then you had dug deeper into this gorgeous puzzle of a man, and found light and shadow, softness and jagged edges. And you had fallen, hopelessly, for every part of him, even the missing ones, because they too, told a story.

“I may have had a fair illuminating  _ conversation _ with your old flame.”

“Ezra…”

“The temptation to kill him was strong, I must confess, but I let him live, with all his appendages attached.” Ezra gazed down at you fondly, cupping your cheek. “Seems it may be a while before he’s moved to approach another woman, though.”

“Sometimes, Ezra, your moral compass is skewed just right.” You held him tightly. “Thankyou. The thought of a private picture, being shared that way-”

He nuzzled your hair, breathed in, sighed happily. “Can’t say it was entirely altruistic, Rainfall. Don’t sit well with me, others lookin’ on your beauty. You’re mine, and I don’t share well.” He kissed you fiercely, his arm banded around you, holding you close as could be. 

“Yeah? I don’t share either.” You nipped at his lip. “I’ve missed you, and you interrupted at the perfect time.” You nodded towards the sorry-looking dough on the kitchen counter. “No way I’m getting a rise out of that.” Cheekily, you slid a hand down his body to cup him where he’d started to grow hard for you. “But I might be in luck, now you’re home.”

Ezra turned you in a circle, walking you slowly backwards towards your bedroom, dropping kisses on your neck as his hand worked the buttons of your rainy-stay-home jumpsuit. “My sweet girl. I’ll always endeavour to come home to you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
